


What Rory Knew

by The Thirteenth Doctor (Ennaejj)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Fantasizing, Multi, PWP, Sexy tension, Telepathy, Trust Issues, dark!Doctor, fun with the sonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennaejj/pseuds/The%20Thirteenth%20Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy won't stop flirting with the Doctor, and Rory knows that the Time Lord won't hold out forever.  One day Amy will tell the Doctor to take her to bed, and he'll give in.  Rory can't let that happen.  But what can he do?  How do you stop the Doctor from taking what he wants?</p>
<p>By offering something in trade.  Something to sate the need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do We Have A Deal?

**Author's Note:**

> Love River, but let's pretend she doesn't exist, just for a little while. Takes place in the interlude between series 5 and 6.

 

Rory knew.  He'd never _seen_ Amy come on to the Doctor, she was never so brazen, but he knew she still made advances.  He could tell by the way the two of them stepped apart when he came in the room, or how the Doctor flushed when Rory made a comment about 'wild Amy.'  She kept doing it, and Rory knew she would keep on doing it.  That was Amy.

 But, would the Doctor keep rejecting her? 

The Time Lord was far from infallible.  He had his rules and his reasons, and his silly-yet-frightening bouts of imagined godhood.  But he was no god.  He was mortal, in the end.  And mortals have...needs.

And weaknesses. 

 And Rory couldn't bear it if the Doctor gave in--even once.  If he forgot himself even for a second--like in those moments when he let his anger show, when he turned dark and terrible--it would be all over.

 The Doctor would have his way with Amy, and then...and then...

And then Rory would die.  Not because Amy had given herself to the Doctor, but because Amy would hate herself.  She'd turn that hatred around--like she always did--twist it until it was something that made her strong, but made Rory weak.  She'd leave him, Rory knew.  Even if she never let the Doctor touch her again, she and Rory would end.

He could never let that happen.  But he couldn't watch them every second, couldn't convince Amy that her anxious moments of flirting could turn ugly and ruin them forever.

 So he had to act. 

He couldn't threaten the Doctor.  The Time Lord would only reassure him that nothing would ever happen.  He'd say, "That's not why I have companions.  You don't have to worry about me."  And he'd say it with a wink and a smile and a tug of his bowtie.  After a playful slap, he'd tell Rory to go have a snog with Amy, like that would make it all better.

And, in Rory's mind, that was what was so terrible about knowing.  _He_ knew, but they didn't.

That was why he had to do something.  Had to give the Doctor an outlet--a reason to step away from Amy when that inevitable, dark day came.  The day Amy would say, "I want you, Raggedy Man," and the ever-gabbing Doctor would, _finally_ , say nothing at all.

 

#

 

 Something terrifying was chasing them, as always.  The Doctor had called the things Goo-Glons or Zoo-Zons or something of the sort.  Didn't really matter what they were called--they were nice large blobs of turgid acid that would roll you down and gobble you up, dissolving you down to the bones in three minutes flat.

 "Run!" the Doctor demanded.  Run Rory did, one hand entwined with Amy's--her other hand entwined with the Doctor's.

The sharp, metallic sent of corrosion hung heavy in the air of the alien-sewer.  Three sets of boots stomped out a frantic rhythm, splashing through puddles of water and clanging against wayward pieces of metal.  The Doctor tugged his companions along, pointing his sonic screwdriver over his head as they ran, trying to burst the pipes behind them. 

 "Keep going," the Doctor chanted, "Keep going.  Don't stop.  Don't you dare stop running."

Amy tripped, tugging both men to a halt.  Quickly, the Doctor scooped her up before Rory could right himself.  "Come along, Rory!"

She clung to the Doctor, her fingers white-knuckled against his jacket.  She glanced up into the Doctor's face, and Rory could see that look in her eye--the look that said, "Get me out of this and I'm yours."

Rory swallowed his jealousy and kept running.  _Run.  Run with them.  Run and don't let them out of your sight for a second_.

They found the TARDIS right where they'd left it.  The Doctor snapped his fingers and the door opened.  He unceremoniously tossed Amy inside, then spun, holding out his hand for Rory.

Their palms slipped into one another, gripping tightly.  Rory let the Doctor pull him in, and the TARDIS slammed the door of its own accord.

Rory didn't let go once he was safe.  He held the Doctor there, fists tightly clasped between heaving chests.  He was about to tell the Doctor to leave the room, to let him have a moment with his wife, when the Doctor leaned in and planted a firm-but-quick kiss on his lips. 

"Ah, brilliant," the Doctor said, pulling back with a smile.  "Out by the skin of our teeth, by the threads of our laces, by the nips of our noses."  He tried to release Rory's hand and make for the console, but the other man wouldn't have it.

Amy stood behind the Doctor, leaning up against the controls, her face flushed, eyes dark--it was her roll-in-the-hay look.  And not for all the time in the universe, not for all the riches in every land, would Rory let the Doctor turn around to see that look.

The Doctor chuckled.  "Rory, what's wrong?  We're out.  Acid's gone; no more dissolving into goo."  That was the Doctor, oblivious right up until he was dangerously fully aware.

"Tell her no," Rory said quietly.

"What?  Tell--"  The Doctor started to look over his shoulder, but Rory yanked him closer.

"Amy, would you leave us for a minute?" Rory asked.

She pursed her lips and smirked.  "I'll just be in the bedroom, then.  Come and find me when you're done."

She was talking to either of them--whichever one would honor her request.  And only Rory knew it.

When they were finally alone, he dropped the Doctor's hand and stepped back, but did not stray far.  "You can't touch Amy," he said.

"What on Earth--pardon the expression--would I touch Amy for?  Touch Amy?  What's rattling around in your head?  Specifics, Rory, I can tell you're mad about something.  And I'm guessing I haven't even done it yet."

"The next time she kisses you, touches...lays so much as a finger on your chest, you come to me.  Straight away."

The Doctor cocked his head, scanning Rory with his eyes the way he scanned a new, unusual problem.  Especially a problem he thought personally insulting.  "Listen, Rory," he said, quiet yet firm.  "She is your wife, and I don't go about messing with other people's wives...for the most part.  If you think for a second that I would betray your trust--betray her--"

"Her what?"  Rory demanded.  "You betray her every minute of every hour of every day."

"What do you mean?"

Rory lifted his arms to encompass the TARDIS, trying to make him understand. "This is the garden of Eden.  And you're the forbidden fruit.  I said before that you were dangerous because you make people want to impress you.  Well, I was wrong.  You're dangerous because you make people want _you_.  And either they go mad because they can't have you, or they take a taste and then..."

"And then, what?" the Doctor asked softly.  "You think I have my way with them and then cast them out?"  He flicked his fingers through the air.  "Out of the garden?"

"I think they cast themselves out," Rory said.   When the Doctor narrowed his gaze, trying to dissect Rory's intent, he continued, "You touch her and you'll destroy her.  But every day you don't touch her, it drives her a little more insane.  And you don't care."

"That," the Doctor said, licking his lips, "Is where you're wrong.  I care.  I care about the both of you, and so I leave her alone.  Every little wink of her eye and pout of her lips and flip of her hand _is_ beautiful...But I leave her alone."  His pupils grew wide, and his gaze distant.  In that moment Rory saw for certain the losing battle the Time Lord fought within himself.  No matter what he said, about caring or otherwise, he wanted her.  And when a Time Lord wants something, he eventually gets it.

"Please, don't," Rory pleaded.

"I won't."

"But you _will_."

" _I won't_ ," the Doctor growled.

Rory let a beat pass.  "You will."

With a huff, Doctor let his head hang.  "Oh, Rory."  He stepped away, slender hands rubbing at his face.  "Beautiful, sad, perceptive Rory.  I make you wait two-thousand years and then I snatch her away in the end, is that it?"

"No.  Because she can't have you, not really.  Not forever," Rory said.  "And that's...that's what'll do it.  You're Peter Pan, aren't you?  And no Earth girl could ever keep you."

"So, what do we do, eh?  I drop you two off home and say goodbye forever?"

"No."  Rory surprised himself with how quickly he said it.  "No."

A flash of anger darted through the Doctor's eyes.   He made wild gestures with his hands as he articulated.  "What, then?  Don't stay, don't go.  Don't touch her, don't leave her."  He stepped up to Rory, standing only a hair's breadth away.  "What do you want me to do?  I can see the Last Centurion has a request, so _make it_."

The only thing he could do was offer something to the Doctor in Amy's place.  Something to sate the need.  Something to make the Doctor's blood stop boiling.  "Take me instead." 

The offer had been his plan all along, but it sounded strange now, escaping his lips.  _Don't fuck my wife, fuck me instead--_ really?

The Doctor frowned, his lips slightly parted.  Whatever he'd expected Rory to say, it hadn't been that.  Then he smiled, big and broad, like Rory had made the grandest joke.  "Ha!  Rory Williams, protecting his wife's honor by giving up his own."  He clapped his hands together.  "Did we just land on _DaySands Seven_ \--the most operatic planet in the universe--or something?" 

But then he saw the look on Rory's face.  Dead serious--the same stony expression he always carried whenever Amy's life was in the balance. 

The anger flashed back again, and the Doctor's tone took a grim turn. "What makes you think I'd take you in trade?"

"Because you like being adored.  And I--"  The words caught in his throat.  "I can adore you."

"I don't _like_ being adored, Rory Williams," the Doctor said, leaning in close once more, his voice low, calm.  Seductive.  "I _love_ it."

And there it was.  The dark, hungry beast hiding behind the petulant child.  Rory felt every muscle in his body tremble.  "Do we have a deal?" 

"Look me in the eye and tell me that's what you want," the Doctor said.

It was difficult, but Rory brought his gaze to the Doctor's.  "I'm begging you."

"For Amy's sake?"

"For both of us."

The Doctor bit his lip, then leaned in and stole a quick kiss.  Rory returned it, determined not to let the Doctor control the situation.  _I asked for this_ , he told himself.   _He doesn't get to make me do anything.  I asked, and I own it_.

When they parted, the Doctor looked confused again.  And guilty.  "Don't tell Amy?" he asked.

Rory nodded.  "Don't tell Amy."

 

#

 

That evening, after he made his deal with the Doctor, Rory went to his wife like she'd asked.  He bent her over the bottom bunk and slipped into her from behind.  While he thrust frantically in and out of her he ran his palms over her smooth, pale back, admiring every curve, every freckle. 

He wound his fist into her red hair and yanked--and she moaned.  God, did she moan.  He knew how she liked it after a run.  Hard.

"Yes.  Yes, Rory.  _Yes_."  Her fingers knotted the sheets beneath her.

Thankfully, not once did she let out an errant sigh of _Doctor_.  Not even when she came, clamping down around Rory, pushing back into him.

Her pleasure riled Rory's own.  He could never cum until she did.  Hers was the trigger, always.  The thing that sent him over the edge into euphoric oblivion.   He could feel it coming.  Almost there.   Growling, he bent over her back and bit into her shoulder, eyes screwed shut.

And in the darkness of his mind's eye a light flickered, and he saw the Doctor.  Felt his lips touch his.  Oh, the soft way they gave--the hard way they demanded. 

The secret promise the two of them had made--and the jealousy, the _want_ of it all--hit Rory like a blast from a Silurian rifle.  He came, imagining the Doctor kissing him--imagining the Doctor demanding Rory take Amy's place beneath him.

Rory cried out, as much in surprise as in pleasure.

He emptied himself into Amy.  Stayed inside her for as long as his dick throbbed.

They collapsed together, breathing harder than they had outrunning the acid globs.  Amy sighed, a little smile on her lips.  "Mmm, that was quite good."

"Ye-yeah," he agreed absently.   He could still hear the imaginary voice of the Doctor in his head.

_You said I could have you.  You said you would take her place.  You wanted this.  You wanted me to take you.  Do you still want it, Rory?  Do you still want me_ _to_ fuck _you_?

It sounded so unlike the Doctor--Doctor normal.  Doctor light.

But the Dark Doctor--the beastly Doctor--he would say those things.  He would say such things when he was desperate.  Moments where he was filled with hate or filled with revulsion for himself--that was when the Doctor talked dirty.

And Rory knew that it was only in such a state that the Doctor would ever fulfil his promise.  If he was going to bed Rory it was going to be on a black day.

 

               

 


	2. Almost

They had several _almosts_.

Amy would periodically wink at the Doctor, turn her back, and then the Doctor would take a deep breath and look to Rory.  Sometimes the look was hungry.  Sometimes it was pleading.  Sometimes it was a question.

Or Amy would snap the Doctor's braces as she walked by, and the Doctor would flinch and glare at Rory.  And when she'd left the room the Doctor would openly adjust himself, letting Rory know that her simple tease had made him hard.

Once, Amy did a little playful shimmy up against the Doctor's side after an adventure, taking the Mickey out of him.  "Oooh, Doctor, weren't you just the showoff down there?"  Her hands fluttered over him.  "Girls love a man who knows how to use his sonic." 

The Doctor swallowed and stepped away to check the monitor.  She chased him around the console, still poking fun, not realizing that his twirling about the panels was a dash away from her body, away from her smooth skin and long legs.

Rory watched, arms crossed, body leant against the guardrail, expression grim.

"Doctor," she sighed in his ear--all breathy.  "What else can you do with that screwdriver, I wonder?"

After she'd had her fun, Amy trotted off to the kitchen for a snack.  "Don't you boys go crashing 'er while I'm gone," she ordered.

When the last lock of her hair flashed around the corner, the Doctor advanced on Rory.  He came close, but didn't touch. 

Rory hadn't expected it--didn't think the Doctor was going to lose control until he was right there, in his face.  The Doctor's lip curled in a depraved expression.  He looked at Rory with his head lowered, gaze occasionally darting to the other man's mouth. 

Temptation radiated off him in potent waves.   "Your wife..." he began, his voice low and gravely.  Fidgeting, he ran his palms against his thighs, then his chin, fingers twitching.

"I know," Rory said, trying to be understanding, trying to sound confident, trying not to show how startled he was. 

"She won't leave me alone."

"No.  I know."

"Why does she do that?" he demanded, edging nearer. 

"She fantasies about you.  Dreams about you," Rory admitted, biting back his own frustration.  How many times had he heard her call for the Doctor in her sleep--moan for him?  "She flirts because..." he trailed off.  _Because she wants you,_ he thought. _Because she'd rather have a taste than nothing at all_.  "She thinks she's just playing."

It was as though a storm cloud had settled over the Doctor.  His pupils were large, dark.  A morose anxiety tugged at his lips and his eyes.

Rory gulped.  The Doctor was so close. Too close, and too tense.  And there was a frightening swell in his trousers.  At any moment he might grab Rory, spin him around, and take him up against the guardrail.  Terror and anticipation wound themselves into a tight spring in Rory's mind.

The fidgeting stopped.  "Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" the Doctor asked.  He seemed to calm then, become more sure of himself.  The bleakness left his face, replaced by a sly smile.

"Like what?"

"Me to spin you around..."  He placed his hands on Rory's shoulders and nudged him into a turn--a parody of the intense spin Rory had imagined.  Rory complied, at a loss, and when he faced the railing he gripped it tightly.  The Doctor's hand slipped down Rory's spine as he whispered, "Spin you around and take you up against the guardrail."  He drew a deep breath.  "Rory, Rory, Rory," he tutted.

Rory turned himself around again.  "How did you...?"

The Doctor poked him in the forehead.  "I've never shown you that little trick before?   Sometimes, when I'm  this close--"  He moved in, slipping one foot between Rory's, keeping their groins only a paper's width apart.  "I can hear you."

"You mean--"

"Your thoughts, Mr. Pond.  And if I let you, you could hear mine.  Very useful for imparting lots of important information at a rapid pace when needed.  Or for painting a much clearer picture of a situation than I could ever do with words.  But you don't want to know what I'm thinking right now--oh, _you don't want that_."

Rory was determined to assert himself.  "Maybe I do."

The Doctor looked for a moment like he was about to let it out, to let Rory see whatever muck was rolling around in his brain, but then he frowned and stepped away.  "No.  You couldn't take it."

"Who says?  You don’t always get to decide what's best for me."

"Believe me on this one."  He moved back to the console, shoulders drooped.

Irritation flared in Rory's gut.  "I'm not the simpering little tag-along you picked up at my stag party," he said, stomping up next to the Doctor.  "I'm here in my own right, my choice.  If I say I can take it, give it to me."

"No."

"You read my mind, it's only fair."  He gave the doctor a shove, made him turn away from the controls.

" _No_ ," the Doctor said emphatically.

"Come on, Doctor.  I bet your thoughts aren't the minefield you think they are."

"Rory, leave it.  I said no. _No_."  His fingers were trembling again.  Tension strained every muscle.  The Time Lord practically vibrated.

But Rory refused to back down. "Why not?"

" _Because_ I _can barely take it_ ," he barked. 

"I don't believe you."

"No?"  

"No."

The Doctor lunged, hand tangling in Rory's hair, mouth crushing against his. 

Rory's stomach fluttered, and he responded immediately, flicking his tongue out to meet the Doctor's.  His hands fell against the rough tweed and he pulled the other man closer. 

They both fought for dominance--the Doctor dove forward wantonly, and Rory struggled against him.  Kissing the Doctor was like swimming upstream in whitewater. 

The Doctor smelled musky, heady.  He smelled like the time vortex and tasted like the stars--bright, burning.

A little moan escaped the Doctor.  Rory pulled away for a moment, just to feel the delicious tug of their lips parting, before diving back in again.  The Doctor pressed forward, bringing their bodies flush against one another.

Friction. God, the friction.  The Doctor moved against him, grinding--

But then there was a flash in Rory's mind.  A flash of Amy, all white skin and red hair and no clothes. 

Little white things studded her hair--like the tiny flower clips she'd worn on their wedding day.   She lay relaxed on an unfamiliar bed that had been draped with silky, TARDIS-blue sheets.  Her hands were tied to the headboard.  Something sat securely between her teeth--a gag, made out of a piece of red cloth, like a...a bowtie.

She eased her legs apart invitingly, and a mouth descended on her wet, swollen pussy.   Kissing, lapping, exploring--tongue flicking at her clit, making her hiss.  He could almost taste her, sweet and bitter and oh so warm...

But, was it his mouth?  No--

Rory broke the kiss, staggering back, realizing the scene couldn't be a memory.  It was a fantasy--the Doctor's fantasy. 

He searched the other man's eyes, but for what, he wasn't sure.  Suddenly he wanted to punch him--bruise that chiseled jaw, that ridiculous chin.

The Doctor couldn't hold Rory's gaze.  He inched away, sensing how furious Rory was.  "And that," he admitted quietly, "Is about as tame as they come.  I told you you didn’t want to know."

"Look what I made.  Well, the TARDIS made," Amy exclaimed, bursting into the room and skipping down the stairs.  She held out a bowl.  "Fish fingers and custard.  Enough for three."

Both men instantly turned on the smiles, making little interjections of pseudo-excitement at the prospect of fish custard.  But neither moved to take the bowl.  They both stood firmly against the console, hiding their ill-gotten erections.


	3. Not Quite

There's _almost_.  And then there's _not quite_.

The Battle of the Long Knights, where they'd fought the slithering warriors of Galvinine, stretched on for ages.  They fought for the children--the children offered in sacrifice.  And they'd fought for the TARDIS--the foretold 'blue vessel' in which the sacrifices were to be offered.

At one point, Rory and Amy had found themselves back to back, each with a blade in-hand, surrounded by fifty knights.  Rory wondered if this was it.  The Doctor was nowhere in sight.  Over the roar and haze of the battlefield there was no way to make out the whine of a sonic screwdriver or see its small, green light.

As the warriors closed in, Rory turned to face Amy.  The scent of dirt and blood sat heavy in Rory's nose, blocking out everything else--the sweet smell of his wife and the spicy scent of the Doctor that always seemed to ghost around her.

"I love you," he gasped.

Amy dove in for a kiss, deep and hungry.  "I love you, too," she said.  "But we're not going to die here.  Now perk up that sword, Mr. Pond."

They twirled apart, like dancers in a choreographed sketch, blades cutting out.  But there were too many.  For every warrior that fell, another joined the pack.

Swordplay felt so familiar and so foreign at the same time.  Two thousand years as a trained centurion--two thousand years and none at all.  He remembered, even if his muscles didn't. 

 _Where are you_?  He screamed for the Doctor in his head.  _We need you.  Amy needs you_. _I'll never forgive you if she dies_.

The Doctor, the madman who didn't like guns or blades, the man who insisted on brains over brawn, came barreling through the Knights.   He brandished a sword in one hand and the screwdriver in the other.  The sword did not strike, though--did not land.  With his sonic, the Doctor made the weapon vibrate at an ultra-high frequency. 

Capillaries burst in Rory's nose and ears.  "Get down!" he shouted at Amy, throwing his arms around her.  He turned his back to the Doctor and shielded his wife with his body.  He shut his eyes.

The Knights dropped like stones--Rory felt the thuds.   When the last one fell, someone took hold of his chin.  He opened his eyes.

"Temporarily incapacitated," the Doctor said, though Rory had to read his lips.  He hoped 'temporary' also applied to his lost hearing.

Though they'd escaped the fifty Knights, the Doctor did not look happy.  Soot streaked his face like war paint.  His jacket was gone, and his sleeves were rolled up past the elbow.   The ends of his undone bowtie flapped against his chest in the humid breeze.   He set his jaw and advanced on the last hill--the last thing standing between them and the TARDIS.

The rest of the battle was a blur in Rory's mind.  All sharp edges and sharp smells and dull sounds.  Two Knights had stood guard inside the box, and The Doctor shoved them out the door upon takeoff--more than a few feet above the ground.

He'd done it with such malice--pure anger burning in his eyes.  It wasn't often that he demonstrated his Time lord strength.  Each Knight was easily twice his size.  As he pushed, his arms strained for a moment, and his back muscles rippled beneath his sweat-soaked dress shirt, and then the alien warriors were gone.

The victorious time-travelers dropped the children off at their homes before leaving the planet--a task the Doctor did not participate in.  He hid deep in the TARDIS while Rory and Amy were showered with thanks and praises. 

When at last it was just the three of them, the Doctor reappeared in the control room.  He hadn't changed his clothes, but he'd taken a damp cloth to his face.  Flipping levers and pressing buttons aimlessly, he kept his head down, gaze averted.     

"We did it," Amy said triumphantly.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed.  "But how many Galvininans had to die so that we could do it?"

Amy and Rory both shuffled uncomfortably.

Cautiously, Amy approached the Doctor.  She pressed up against his back, leaning her head between his shoulder blades, and wound her arms around his middle.  "Don't be sad, raggedy man," she said kindly.

"Why do they always have to die?" he asked.

It was rhetorical.  She didn't answer.  Instead, she ran her palms across his stomach and up his chest.

Amy couldn't see the Doctor's expression, but Rory could.  Her touch was meant to be soothing, but had the opposite effect.  The Doctor's eyes clamped shut, his lips twisted and he ground his teeth together.    His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed dryly.   He leaned into the console, his fingers white-knuckled against the metal. 

There was something both angry and ravenous in his expression.  With each stroke of her fingers, Amy drew violence closer to the surface.  It was the Doctor's darkness--the dirty part of him that wanted to turn the pain into pleasure, the part that needed to lash out, that wanted release.

Her hands traveled up to his pectorals, then down his abdomen.  And kept going.  Down, down...

The Doctor spun suddenly, so that his back was pressed into the console and Amy was pressed against his crotch.  He gripped her by the shoulders, his lips parted, his head descended--

"Stop!" Rory roared.

Both Amy and the Doctor jumped.  The Doctor made eye contact with Rory, a bitter retort poised on his lips.  But then he remembered himself and nodded.  Scowling, he said, "Amelia, would you be so kind as to fetch me the twenty-eight licks half-nelson wrench from the tool kit in the boiler room?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Please," he said.  "I think the TARDIS just gave a kick.  I should fix that."

Amy wasn't stupid.  She knew she was being booted from the room.  And she knew it was so they could have words about her. 

And Rory knew she thought his shout was about him being over protective--unnecessarily jealous-- _again_.  But it wasn't unnecessary at all.

She shot her husband a look before leaving:  _Be nice_.

This time when she left, there was no preamble.  The Doctor closed the space between them with two long strides, then lifted off Rory's jumper without asking.  Instead of going for his mouth, the Doctor started at Rory's neck, biting and kissing and licking with abandon--like he was going to eat Rory instead of fuck him.  His long fingers trailed down Rory's chest before gripping him firmly by the waist, holding him steady.  Each little nip of the Doctor's teeth was accompanied by a desperate whimper. 

The welts were rising already.  Rory fisted the Doctor's hair and pulled him back, face upturned.  "She'll see the marks," he said.

"Rory," he said from his bent position, "You've just been in a war.  You're bound to have marks.  Lots of marks."

"Not like these.  You can't--"

That did it.  The single, quick denial made the Doctor's eyes blaze.  He didn't even ask _I can't what?_

He slapped Rory's hand away from his hair and grabbed the centurion by the jaw.  "We agreed: you instead of her.  Right now I want to mark your wife.  I want to leave pretty bruises all over her body.  I want to eat her up and eat her out."  He pointed toward the consol.  "I want to push up her skirt, tear a hole in those leggings, and fuck her against the stabilizer switch.  I could call her back right now.  Do you think she'd let me take her right in front of you?" 

 _Yes_ , Rory thought. 

The evil grin that spread across the Doctor's lips indicated he'd read Rory's mind.

"But we agreed, didn't we?" the Doctor continued.  "When I can't stand it anymore... Well.  I can't stand it anymore."

Still grasping Rory's jaw, the Doctor kissed him, tongue delving deep.  It was more of a promise of things to come than a kiss.  A mouth fuck and a mind fuck all at once.

He pushed Rory toward the stairs.  "My room.  Now."

Rory stumbled, but caught himself on the railing.  It was happening.  It was actually happening.  He turned back to the Doctor, sure this must be a dream.

The Doctor's eyes scanned Rory's entire body, clearly imagining everything he could do with it--do _to_ it.

"I--I don't know the way," Rory stuttered.  "You've never shown us where your room is."

The Doctor stomped past Rory.  "Now you know why," he said darkly.  

 

#

 

If Rory had been wearing a tie, he was sure the Doctor would have led him down the hall like a dog on a leash.

They traveled deep into the TARDIS, much further from the control room than Rory would have guessed.  But every time they turned a corner, the Doctor's irritation increased.  Something wasn't right.  Finally, the Doctor stopped walking and said, "Alright, enough."  He was talking to the TARDIS.

"What's wrong?" Rory asked.

"She knows what I'm going to do to you and she doesn't like it," he said, then pursed his lips thoughtfully.

After a pause he yanked Rory to him.  With one hand on the back of Rory's neck and the other on his ass, he snogged him good and hard.  They separated with a gasp, and the Doctor pushed Rory face-first into the closest wall.

Rory braced himself, palms spread out beside his head.  The Doctor's hands closed over his wrists, and he ground his hips against Rory's ass.  Rory's spine bowed toward the wall, and he pushed out to meet the Doctor.

He was rewarded with more bites--across his shoulders, up his neck.

"I'll do it right here in the open, I swear I will," the Doctor promised the TARDIS with a growl.  He stepped away from Rory, shrugged off his braces and began unbuttoning his shirt.  "I don't think you want that.  _So_ _where's my room_?"

A heavy click, like a large lock opening, reverberated down the hall to their right.  The Doctor took Rory by the hand and yanked him along.

They came to a red door with a gilded 'eleven' on its front.  "A different room for every regeneration," the Doctor explained, shoving Rory through the door.  He bolted it behind them.

Rory instantly recognized the large four-post bed as that from the Doctor's cunnilingus fantasy.  But he wasn't given time to examine the rest of the room's contents.  The Doctor pressed him up against the door.

The Time Lord's hair was more unruly than usual, flopping into his brooding eyes.  His shirt flapped open, his bowtie still undone and draped around his collar.  Timidly, Rory trailed his fingers down the Doctor's abs, fascinated by how they tightened and rippled under his touch.

The Doctor leaned his forehead against Rory's.  Now that they'd found his room, he appeared more relaxed.  "What did I tell you I love, Rory Williams?" he asked softly.

It only took a moment for Rory to find his meaning.  He swallowed harshly before replying, "You love being adored."

The Doctor shuddered at the words, reveling in whatever dark fantasies they'd conjured for him.  "Show me what that means," he demanded. 

But before Rory could take the initiative, the Doctor held up the sonic between them, retrieved from his trouser pocket.  He pulled back and pressed the tip of the screwdriver to Rory's lips, then trailed it down his chin.

Everywhere it touched him, Rory felt a little zing of energy.  It rounded one nipple, then the other, then continued on a steady slide down his body. 

The doctor poised it below Rory's bellybutton.  "Just point and think," he whispered.

A jolt of pleasure coursed through Rory's stomach.  He gasped.  It tingled and tickled and sizzled all at once.

"I'm afraid I've been caught in a bit of a lie," the Doctor said.  Rory searched the other man's gaze, unsure of what he meant.  The screwdriver's head moved lower.  "There's _one_ type of wood it works on."

The Doctor's nimble fingers threaded through Rory's hair and brought him in for a kiss the instant the whine of the screwdriver resumed.  Rory yelped in surprise as his erection was coaxed into full stiffness by the sonic.  Blood raged in his ears and surged through his cock.

"Are you ready to adore me, Mr. Pond?" the Doctor gasped. 

"Yes."

"I don't think you are.  Not quite yet."

A phantom zinged against Rory's prostate, sending rivulets of ecstasy through his legs and his groin.  And then he felt a gentle stretching--easing, coaxing.  The Doctor was using the sonic to prepare Rory's ass for fucking.

The Doctor probed Rory's mind while the sonic probed his ass, sending little licks of ideas into his brain--dirty snippets from his imagination.  In one, the Doctor stood outside Amy and Rory's room, listening as they made love.  In another, he worked below the glass floor in the control room, and Amy, unaware, stood over him--lacy knickers fully exposed.   In a third, the Doctor held Amy's long hair away from her face while she deep-throated him--and this scene wasn't in the TARDIS.  The Doctor was imagining himself in Rory and Amy's home, sitting on their couch, with Amy kneeled on the floor before him. 

She sucked and licked him with abandon, while he sat there smugly.  Moments later, the Doctor imagined Rory walking in on them, catching his wife with her pink lips wrapped around the Time Lord's thick cock.

Rory wanted to be angry, not turned on.  He stopped kissing the Doctor, willing himself to lash out.  He wrapped one hand around the front of the Doctor's throat, squeezing.  The Doctor's eyes went wide, but not in shock--with desire.  He wanted Rory to hurt him.

If they were going to fuck, he wanted Rory mad. 

And all the while the phantom of the sonic pushed in and out of Rory.  Not once did the Doctor's mental rhythm falter.

"You're sick," Rory spat.  But when he said it, it didn't sound angry.  It sounded desperate and full of longing.

"Surprise, surprise," the Doctor muttered.   He put a hand over Rory's, holding it against his throat.  "Are you ready, yet?"  He gave the sonic a mental nudge, and Rory jumped as he felt the pressure move deeper.

Then Rory tensed--the full realization of what was about to happen hit him all at once.  _Oh my god_ , he thought.  _We're really going to do it.  I'm going to let a man fuck me_.  He was sure the fear showed on his face. 

The Doctor pulled back suddenly.  "You aren't ready," he said flatly.  He stepped away, massaging his throat.

"Yes, I am," Rory denied.

"I can read your mind, Rory Williams.  You are not ready."

"What do you care?  It shouldn't matter.  I'm doing this for Amy, not for me.  You're supposed to fuck me and leave her alone."

With a deep shout, the Doctor threw the screwdriver across the room.  It smacked into the headboard and flopped onto the bed.  "Get out!"

Rory didn't move.

The Doctor pulled at his own hair, doubling over in frustration.  "This isn't why I have companions," he raged at himself.  "You shouldn't have to bargain with me.  Shouldn't have to let me have you.  Get out."

"This isn't over," Rory said.  Why had he let the fear show?  Why couldn't he have just gulped it down a little longer?  "The deal still stands."

" _We shouldn't be making deals_.  Go find Amy," the Doctor told him.  "Get out and find your wife and leave me alone."  When Rory staid put, he stomped over to the door, unbolted it, and flung it open.  "Get out before I fuck you!" he yelled.

Rory did as ordered, and the door slammed behind him.  He leaned against it for a moment, heart pounding a tattoo into his chest.  The ghost of the sonic still lingered inside him, and his cock still weighted heavy in his pants.

But he couldn't go find Amy and shag her.  Not with the Doctor's teeth marks freshly scattered all over his skin.

Rory closed his eyes and reached into his trousers.  Deftly, he stroked himself, pressing his back against the red door.  Unbuttoning his jeans, he let them fall below his hips.  His pants followed, and his cock popped out. 

Ragged breaths escaped him as his hand worked.  He imagined that the girth he'd felt inside him wasn't an illusion created by the sonic--that it was the Doctor, fulfilling his promise.

In the fantasy, he was on all fours, the Doctor over him, thrusting in and out of him at a rapid pace.  And Amy was there, in the corner of the room, watching.  Her hand disappeared under her skirt as she breathed, "My boys.  That's it.  That's my good boys."

In Rory's mind, the Doctor rode him hard and angry, but didn't say anything.  For once, the man shut up. 

No, Rory thought, it wasn't just that he'd shut up.  It was that Rory had gagged him.  He took the bowtie from the Doctor's previous fantasy and shoved it in the man's own mouth.  It spread his lips in such a pretty way.  He imagined it would frustrate the Doctor, that he'd scream behind it--all muffled.  And that the frustration would make him take Rory even harder...

Rory heard a stifled exclamation come from the other side of the door--the unmistakable sound of someone riding out an orgasm. 

The Doctor was jerking off against the door, too.

And that did it.  Rory came, daydreaming about his wife watching him get fucked to all hell--and knowing that the Doctor had probably cum eavesdropping on the fantasy.


	4. What If?

 

After his euphoria abated, Rory slunk away from the door with sticky hands and a heavy heart.  He'd left his jumper in the control room, but didn't dare go back for it.  Amy would be there, with whatever tool the Doctor had asked for.

His feet wanted to take him to his bedroom, but he couldn't go there either.  Where would Amy search when she couldn't find her boys?  She'd check the library, and the pool, and the bedroom. 

So where could he go?

The lights flickered down a left-hand hall, and he took it as an invitation.  Not far beyond he found a door sitting slightly ajar.  Hesitant, he peeked inside.

It was a bathroom.  Small, but nice, with an antique claw-footed tub sitting on the left, juxtaposed to a fifty-first century sanitation shower on the right.  Between the two rested a toilet and a vanity-style sink and mirror. 

"Thank you," he sighed in relief, patting a TARDIS wall before slipping through the door.

Several bottles sat lined-up near the sink.  He grabbed one filled with a blue lotion and took a whiff before reading the label.  It smelled like _him_ \--like essence of Rory.  With traces of nutmeg, black coffee, and Leadworth Hospital.  He'd never really thought much about how he smelled before, but this was undeniably it.  Quickly, he sniffed at several others.  They all smelled the same.

It took him a second to realize why.

Right now he didn't smell like himself.  Right now he smelled like the Doctor.  Something Amy was bound to notice.

Turning to the labels, he read aloud.  "Bite-B-Gone.  Apollo's _Absolutely No Trace_ Sanitary Soap.  Retightening Cream for Rectal-- Oh, jeez, _thanks_."  He put the last bottle down in a hurry. 

He realized the TARDIS was just trying to help. 

But who was it helping, exactly?

Did it feel bad for him?  Did it understand what he was doing and why he was doing it?

Or was it helping Rory get straightened out because that was its job?  He thought about politicians and their prostitutes, how every sleazy Member of Parliament probably had a secretary or PR person waiting in the wings--someone handy for afterward, to make sure the hooker got paid and presentable and properly hushed-up. 

Was the TARDIS just cleaning up after the Doctor like it was supposed to?

With a heavy sigh Rory washed his hands, then grabbed the Bite-B-Gone and upended it into his palm.  He massaged a dollop into his chest, watching the alien cream do its work.  The Doctor's love bites vanished completely, as if they'd never been there at all.

 _Guess it doesn't really matter why the TARDIS is taking care of me_ , he thought _.  Either way, I still feel like a bloody call boy_.

After using all of the appropriate washes and creams and lotions, he turned to leave.  Hanging on the back of the bathroom door was a jumper identical to the one he'd worn earlier.  Right down to the soot and tears.  Perhaps it was the same one, and the TARDIS had retrieved it for him.

Fully dressed again, he allowed himself one more inspection in the mirror.  All traces of the Doctor had been expunged.

All the external ones, anyway.

Rory's head was still awash with thoughts of him, though.  All those fantasies he'd shared...

Like standing outside their bedroom while they made love.  Was that a fantasy, or had it really happened?  Did the Doctor spy on them?  Did he idle outside their room and imagine that Amy was moaning for _him_ , because of _him_?  Did the Doctor touch himself while he listened?

What if Rory hadn't been in the control room today, to shout at the Doctor?  What if Rory had been knocked unconscious during the battle?

Would the Doctor have kissed Amy?  Touched Amy?  Fucked Amy?  Really? 

He tried not to think about it.

He tried very hard.

But when he found Amy--sitting quite innocently in the control room, legs curled under her in a jump seat--images came to him unbidden.

In reality she was reading a book--some first-edition she'd snagged from the special collection.  But in his mind's eye, she was sobbing.  Crying because Rory was unconscious in the TARDIS' infirmary. 

The Doctor crouched before her, cooing softly like he did some times--comforting her.  Then he was leaning forward, drawing her head to his chest and stroking her hair.

"He'll be alright," the Doctor promised. 

"But what if he's not?" Amy pulled back, eyes pleading.  "What if he's--?"

"Shhh, shhhh."  The Doctor planted a chaste kiss on her forehead.  Then another high on her cheek.  Then one on her jaw.   And another at the corner of her mouth...

 _Stop it_ , Rory told himself.  He shook his head, trying to banish the scene.  But instead of vanishing, the tableau sharpened.

His imagined Amy searching the Doctor's eyes for a moment.  A million questions lingered there, but she voiced none.  Instead, she dove forward, capturing the Doctor in a full kiss.

The Doctor's concerned expression melted away into one of pure wickedness.  He grinned to himself as he returned the kiss-- he'd made Amy think it was her idea, manipulated her into acting first.

When she broke contact, the Doctor stood up.  "No, Amy," he said, his insincerity palpable.  "You're worried about Rory, I know, but I can’t make you feel better, not in that way.  Not like that."

"I know, I know," she said, wiping her mouth, coming back to her senses.  She stood and smoothed her skirt.

But the Doctor wouldn't let her give up that easily.   He flicked aside the fringe of his hair, then held out his hands, folding and un-folding them as he spoke--as if every word was perfectly reasonable, perfectly logical.  "Because it's really Rory you want to touch right now, isn't it?  It's Rory you want to kiss.  And kiss...and kiss.  It's Rory's arms you want wrapped around you.  Rory's fingers caressing your skin." 

As if to demonstrate, he moved forward and lightly grasped her shoulders. 

"It's Rory's mouth..." his voice went low, rumbly, as he inched himself closer still.  Rory could no longer see daylight between their bodies.  "His lips all over you.  His tongue, tickling you.  Tasting.  Touching you in those secret places only he knows about."

The Doctor bent down, whispering against her mouth, his hands trailing away from her shoulders to her collar.  "I'd be a poor substitute," he said.  "You don't want me."

With her eyes half-lidded, her tongue flicked forward, lightly flitting across the Doctor's lips.  That was all the invitation the Doctor needed.

In his mind, Rory cried out, "No!  Doctor, _please_."

But the figures of his depraved imagination couldn't hear him.  The Doctor's mouth was on Amy's, then it was on her neck, and his hands were already moving beneath her shirt--up to cup her breasts.

And Amy was lost.  She didn't protest, just sighed.

The seemingly gentle man--who moments ago had insisted she really wanted her husband--transformed.  His movements were no longer comforting, no longer loving.  He became the Doctor that had shoved Rory into the wall, the one that had wanted Rory to choke him, the one who didn't want to make love--the one who wanted to fuck and fuck angry.

He whirled around, placing himself behind Amy so he could shove her against the controls.  He reveled in the way she let him dominate the exchange, the way she let him mold her against the panels.

Sad Amy was gone, replaced by a keening, needy version.  She often lost herself in sex, forgetting where she was, when she was--sometimes, Rory knew, even who she was with. 

How many times had Rory been deep inside her and just _known_?  Known that she wasn't thinking of him, known that she was secretly using him as a proxy for...for...

"Me."  The growl that emanated from the imaginary Doctor's throat was the most bestial sound Rory had ever heard.  His head whipped around, and he caught Rory with his stare as solidly as if it were a steel trap.

Oh great, now his day-mare was talking back.

Imaginary Amy still couldn't see him, though.  Only the Doctor.  Amy turned herself around, still keeping herself trapped between the controls and the Doctor, and trailed her painted nails over his collar bone, dipping to suck hungrily at his neck.

The Doctor all but ignored her, his full attention fixed on Rory.  "I've always been there, haven't I?" His hands plunged underneath her skirt--eyes never straying from Rory's--and yanked.  The sound of Amy's tights tearing sent hot pricks, like needles, up Rory's spine.  "I was in the games you shared and the rhymes she made up and the pictures she drew.  And I didn't leave when you two grew up.  I only became more confused, embroiled, in what should have been just you and her."

As if to punctuate the statement, one hand moved swiftly upward in a fluid stroke beneath her skirt.  Amy gasped.

"No knickers," the Doctor noted through a grin.  "Remind her, in the future, Rory, that one should always wear knickers into battle.  Never know what kind of compromising positions you might find yourself in."  The slick sounds of the Doctor's fingers working through her arousal assaulted Rory's ears.  She was so wet, so fragrant.

"Yes," she insisted, moving her hips, shoving herself down on his hand.

With his free fist, the Doctor yanked her hair, forcing her to expose her throat.  "I want you to say his name," he rumbled into her ear.  "Your husband's name.  _Say it_."

"R-Rory," she gasped.

"You promised to be faithful, didn't you?  I wasn't at the ceremony, but I'm sure that part was in there somewhere."  He bit at her earlobe, his hand moving faster between her legs.

Rory's mind quickly flashed beneath her skirt, giving him a close-up view of the Doctor's ministrations.  He parted her swollen folds with his pointer and ring fingers, working his middle finger up inside her.  The Doctor's hand glistened as her juices dripped down, coating it.

She was so pink, all rosy.  And so tight.  Rory didn't know how after all these years she could still be so tight.

Then he was back again, watching from the stairs, a few feet behind the jump seat she'd been occupying.

"Did you promise to be faithful, Pond?" the Doctor demanded, his gaze flashing from her face to Rory's.  "Say his name again."

"Rory."

"Who are you supposed to save yourself for?"

"Rory."

"And who's touching you right now?  Whose finger is up your pussy, Pond?"

Her eyes were clamped shut, and her hands fisted his braces.  She didn't say anything more.

"Answer me."

She hid her face against his shoulder.  With the hand still knotted in her hair, he pulled her back, forced her to look at him.  "Amy," he cooed, shoving two more fingers in to join the first.  She gasped as his thumb made a firm circle against her clit.  "Who's going to make you cum?"

Lips parted, she looked for a moment like she would speak, but nothing came out, just hitching gasp after gasp.

The Doctor kissed her hard, shoving his tongue deep in her mouth, making sure Rory got a show.

Amy tensed in a familiar fashion, shoulders pulling back, spine straightening.  She was about to cum.

Just then, the Doctor pulled away, slipping his fingers free of both her cunt and her hair.  He dropped into a squat before her, putting his face level with her exposed pussy.  "You're going to say it, Amy," he promised.

Rory's face was hot, and he could feel the tears forming behind his eyes.  He wanted to rush forward, to push them apart and pummel the Doctor until he bled--maybe until he regenerated--but Rory couldn't move.  "Please," he pleaded through gritted teeth.

"Stop me," the Doctor dared, leaning forward, blowing softly across her swollen lips.  "It's all in your head.  All you have to do is stop watching."

Why couldn't he?  Why couldn't he just turn his brain off?  Why did he insist on picturing the whole thing?

"It's because of your first time, isn't it?" the Doctor asked, right before his tongue darted out to tease her.  He lapped at her a few times, trailing his thick, ridiculously limber tongue through her folds.  "The first time you two ever shagged?"

 No. That was a secret.  A secret Rory would never let the Doctor have.

The Doctor stood, unfastening his trousers.  "Easy now, Pond," he said as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into the apex of her legs.  "Your wife's so eager.  She doesn't even know, does she?  What you were thinking that first time, when she took your virginity?"

"Shut up."

"How many boys had she been with before you?  Wild, eager Amy.  You were seventeen the first time she let you inside her.  But we both know our sweet, sexy Amelia Pond didn't wait until she was seventeen.  She waited for me, but she didn't wait for you."

"Shut. Up."

The Time Lord pulled his long, throbbing cock from his pants.  Rory only glimpsed it for an instant--had time enough for half a shout--before the Doctor drove it home.

Amy arched against the console, her heels digging into the backs of the Doctor's thighs.

"Should I tell her?" the Doctor asked, mocking Rory as he slid slowly out of his wife and in again.  "Tell her what was going through your mind the first time you ever made love?"

"You don't know."

"I'm in your head, I know everything." 

The Doctor addressed Amy again, fucking her in long, punctuated strokes.  "Say his name again.  Say his name and feel me."

"Rory."

"Again."

"Rory."

"Again!"

" _Rory_."

"Now mine.  I'm not going to let you cum until you say my name."  His fingers dug into her hips, slamming her down against his pelvis, making sure she was taking him as deep as she possibly could.  "Say it, Amy.  Say it."

Instead she mumbled _Rory, Rory, Rory_ , over and over.

"Say.  My.  Name!" he yelled.

"The Doctor," Rory growled.  And then he was no longer frozen to the spot.  With swift strides, he drew up alongside them.  None too gently, he caught a fist full of shaggy hair and yanked backwards, making the Doctor's spine bow.  "You are the Doctor and that's _my wife_ you're fucking."

And suddenly Amy could see him.  A look of pure horror contorted her face, she tried pushing the Doctor away.  "Rory?  Rory, I'm so-- _oh my god_ \--"

He put a hand on her stomach to still her.  "It's ok," he said, then snaked his palm down, past her skirt, between her legs, and into the heat of their joined bodies.  He wrapped his hand around the Doctor's dick and pressed his fingers up the shaft and into Amy.

Her breath caught at the added girth.  But still unsure, she didn't move.

 _So hot.  So wet_ , Rory noted.

 _And the Doctor... so fucking_ hard.

"It was you," Rory said, bending down to growl directly against the Doctor's ear.  "The first time I ever fucked her, I pretended I was you--the Raggedy Doctor she always wanted."

The imaginary Doctor cried out.  The cock in Rory's hand pulsed franticly, twitching inside Amy-- _cuming_ inside Amy.

Rory bent down and covered the Doctor's mouth with his own, swallowing his scream. 

A real-world hand on his shoulder made Rory jump.  The nightmare land vanished.

Standing next to the jump seat a few feet away, book in hand, was Amy.  A funny frown thinned her lips.  "Are you alright?  I've been calling your name for five minutes."

If he was still on the stairs and she was down there... then it wasn't Amy's hand on his shoulder. 

It had to be _him_.  But Rory couldn't bring himself to look.  Couldn't even bring himself to knock the fingers off his jumper.

"Hello, Stupid Face, anybody in there?"

Because, God, if the Doctor had just read his mind, had just seen _all that_...

"Doctor," Amy chuckled, "I think we've broken him."

At that--the ill-placed joke of all ill-place jokes--the fingers retracted.  "Yes Amy," the Doctor mumbled.  Guilt laced his voice.  "I do believe we have...done...or something."

 


	5. Why and How?

Rory hid in the bedroom. After changing into his pajama bottoms, he pulled the covers of the top bunk over his head and tried to suppress the nausea flooding his body.   It was the kind of sick feeling he hadn’t experienced in ages--not since he was a teen, back before Amy knew he fancied her--but he remembered it well. 

It used to bubble up in his stomach whenever she got ready for a date. She would invite him over beforehand to get his opinion on her outfits--forcing him to watch her get dressed up for other boys, again and again. 

To this day, he still had no idea how she'd managed to stay oblivious to his interest for so long.

Because, really, how could she not have noticed? With the way he none-too-subtly covered his crotch whenever she'd whip one shirt over her head, exposing herself--revealing her bare stomach and lacy bra for a whole thirty seconds--before pulling another one on again?  Or the way his fingers trembled when she had him zip up her dress?  Or how his face flushed when she asked if a skirt was too short?

Yes, this ill feeling was very much like being heart-sick, but in a twisted sort of way. It carried embarrassment--the same Earth-shattering embarrassment he'd experienced the first time Amy'd caught him masturbating.  It carried stabbing pains, like when he'd found her making out with Harry Price behind the Tesco's.  And it had sour overtones--like when she'd become a kiss-o-gram and started flirting for a living.

But this was different, because the embarrassment and pain and sourness weren't because of Amy or anything she'd done. They were because of the Doctor, plain and simple.

He'd violated Rory's privacy without a second thought. He'd learned things, seen things he had no business knowing about, ever.

It was worse than being caught with your hand in your pants by the person whose name you were whispering. It was like...it was like...

No, there was nothing like this.

What right did the Doctor have to go walking around in Rory's head? Rory had promised him his body, he hadn't said anything about his mind.

After a long while, Amy came in. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he mumbled from under the blankets. He couldn't look at her, because she'd see the hurt and anger in his eyes and would spend all night trying to pry the truth out of him.  "Just a touch of--sun.  I think I had too much sun--"

"Well, there were two of them."

"--and smoke. Ash.  I think I inhaled a Knight or two.  Gonna sleep the battle off."

"Yeah, fine. Fine." 

He felt the bunk beds bounce a little. "I'll just be down here if you need me," she said softly.

Oh, Amy. Sweet Amy.  She could be so cruel and so kind all at the same time.  And so strong and so weak.  And so scared and so sure.

"I love you," he said.

"Love you too, Mr. Pond."

Eventually she turned the lights out. Rory waited for her breathing to steady, to become deep and rhythmic, before he carefully slid down the bunk ladder and out the door.

He padded, barefoot and shirtless, down the hall, looking once again for the red door. The TARDIS led him to it in three turns.

He wasn't really sure what he was doing. Every instinct he had screamed at him to drop it, to stay the fuck away from the Doctor.  But he had to explain, had to make the damn Time Lord understand what he'd seen.

As he approached the room, the latch popped and the door swung inward. He jumped back, thinking the Doctor had anticipated his arrival.  But no.  It was the TARDIS' doing.

Half expecting the Doctor to be wrapped in wires, busy building some device that would go _ding_ , Rory entered.  All lay dark.

And someone was snoring.

With only the faint light from the hall to keep him from tripping over this dark object and that strange shape, Rory tiptoed to the bed. The Doctor lay curled on his side, facing Rory, the silky sheets pulled up to his chin.

Rory's eyes started to adjust to the dimness, and he could make out the Doctor's hair--sleep tousled. He wanted to run his fingers through it, all soft and clean.

He wanted to bend down and wake the man with his tongue. He could so easily run it along the Doctor's slightly parted lips, then thrust it into in the Doctor's mouth.  Or maybe he could drag it down his chin, his neck, all the way to... elsewhere.

Rory shook his head, chiding himself. He hated that he felt that way.  He should despise every second of their deal.  Every touch should hurt, every taste should scald.  The smell of the Doctor should disgust him.  It shouldn't draw him in.  It shouldn't make him ache.  Shouldn't make his heart pound.

 _Stop admiring the Devil and do what you came here to do_.

Rory's hand shot out, like a bullet from its barrel, and covered the Doctor's nose and mouth.

The Time Lord sputtered awake instantly. His eyes snapped open, his hand caught Rory's wrist.

"Shut it," Rory demanded, letting the Doctor breathe.   Before the Doctor could sit up, Rory climbed on the bed and leaned over him.  "I'll be gone in a minute, you just have to--"

"What? How did you get in here? No one gets in here.  Oh, it was _her_ , wasn't it?  Traitor.  I tell you, Rory, never trust a machi--"

"Didn't I tell you to _shut it_?"

The Doctor's mouth stopped moving, but his expression swiftly shifted from surprised to defiant. He pushed himself up on his elbows, forcing Rory to lean back.  "It's your fault I'm asleep in the first place.  People do not just sneak up on me.  That's not a thing that happens.  But it's all your stupid psychic energy bouncing around between the walls.  You're so... _loud_.  It's draining."

"Look, I need to...Did you say _my_ psychic energy?"  He nearly forgot he was there to tell the Doctor off.

"I try not to make a habit of telepathically colliding with another psyche too often. Bad on both ends.  Normally I have to touch someone to get the level of telepathic and empathic information you were--frankly-- _spewing_ all over the TARDIS earlier."

"I wasn't--I don't...I don’t _spew_."

"Fine. Projecting.  You were projecting.  Projecting like a Venuvian Legoraph on body-swap night."  He ran a hand over his face, clearly unaccustomed to post-catatonic grogginess.  "There hasn't been this much pounding in my head since the Master."

"Master? Of what?"

"Was an old school chum. Never mind.  What's in my head isn't nearly as interesting as what's in yours." The Doctor reached out from under the covers and stroked Rory's arm with the side of his thumb.  It was the same way he sometimes stoked the TARDIS.  The shift forced the sheets away from his top half, revealing his naked chest.  "So much sexual dynamism for one man.  It's a wonder you haven't exploded into a billion billion pieces from the force of it."

Rory swallowed. All of his thoughts seemed to be flowing out of his brain, down into the whirlpool created by the swirl of the doctor's thumb.  "S-sexual...?"

"Dynamism. Such sad-dirty-hungry thoughts, Mr. Williams.  So forceful and excitable, and yet voiceless."

Now the Doctor leaned back again, easing into his pillow. His thumb kept swirling, and his other hand slid up to rest on top of Rory's thigh.  "So achingly angry and embarrassed and greedy, aren't you?  So many _always wants_ and _never wants_ that are exactly the same thing." His Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke, emphasizing how exposed his neck was.  Rory could reach down and bite, or strangle, or whatever he craved...

But there was no position that was truly submissive or dangerous for the Doctor. Even supine, he was in control.  His hand slipped from the top of Rory's thigh to his inner thigh, and he smiled smugly.  "So, let's get down to it: you pretended you were me.  What must that have been like?"  Wanton expectation, tinted with pity, filled his voice.

"No. That's wrong--I didn't."  Rory scooted back, away from the Doctor's exploring hands.

"Oh, Rory, Rory," the Doctor tutted, abruptly sitting up. He brushed his palms over Rory's shoulders, as though taking the shape of them.  "What did I say about lying to me when I've seen your mind?"

With an irritated huff, Rory grabbed the Doctor's wrists and held them away. "Don't you get it? I _wasn't_ you.  Because...because when Amy and I--you know, the first time--there was no _you_.  Not to me.  I thought you were a character she made up.  For me. _I_ was the Raggedy Doctor. _I_ was the man with the blue box who was going to take her away.  And then you had to go and be all...real."

Rory felt his lip tremble, and he shoved the Doctor's wrists to the side. "Do you know what it's like to realize the most amazing woman in your life has been biding her time with you?  Waiting for this stupid fantasy to show up, and then--bugger me--he does show up!"

"She married _you_ ," the Doctor said softly.  His face was open, understanding. 

How did he do it--turn the empathy on and off in a blink? It made Rory want to punch him.  "Right, me.  Never mind that technically we got married while the universe was still rebooting and you really _didn't_ exist.  I mean, if she'd brought you back before the _I dos_ , would we even... Anyway, how long's our marriage going to last with you here, so close?  With her wanting you and you wanting her and me just...just getting in the way.  How long will you two stand for fucking me instead of fucking each other?"

The Doctor reached forward, fingertips barely brushing Rory's chest. "You and me, we haven't fucked yet," he pointed out.

"You said we shouldn't be making deals..."

"And you said it wasn't over. And that's why you have to go."  With a hefty shove, the Doctor pushed Rory off the bed. 

Rory took a stutter step onto the cold floor and managed to keep himself upright. "What was that for?" he demanded.

"You’re a married man. You shouldn't be sneaking into someone else's bed in the middle of the night."

"Look, I'm tired of you telling me when to jump, and when to run, and when it's ok to take a piss. I make my own decisions."

The Doctor smiled patronizingly. "Right.  Normally I'd be all for you asserting yourself.  But not only are you in _my_ ship, you're in _my_ room.  The room nobody goes in.  My sanctuary.  Now, that would be grounds enough for you to do _exactly_ as I say, but it just so happens that this evening you managed to plant extremely pornographic images of Amy in my mind.  Images that are far more satisfying than anything I've come up with, because these are based in reality.  You have seen all those beautiful, warm, wet places she keeps hidden.  You've felt them, tasted them--and now I want more."

With a flourish, the Doctor threw aside the covers, revealing his lanky body. Rory barely had time to register the Time Lord's utter nakedness before the Doctor pounced, tackling him to the baseboards.

A heavy _oof_ escaped Rory as his back smacked against the floor.  The Doctor pinned him firmly, but he tried to struggle out from underneath.  "Get off--"

"I'm this close to just taking it--what I want," the Doctor said.

Rory stilled, a little afraid, and began mentally preparing himself. _If he wants it now he can have it--but damn if I'm going to make it easy for him_.

But that wasn't what the Doctor was after. "All those memories," he whispered, a twinge of awe in his voice.  He was close enough for the fringe of his hair to brush against Rory's forehead.  "Locked inside your head are memories of her.  You and her.  Together.  Bodies bending and sliding.  Sweat and perfume and laughing and kissing and licking and fucking--oh, the _fucking_." The Doctor's cock rocked against the inside of Rory's thigh, growing fuller by the second.  "Entering your mind, I could taste her sweet little nipples.  I could feel every inch of her through your memories.  Memories of her tight heat--slick, sticky--enveloping your cock.  I bet she likes it hard and deep, doesn't she?  I could feel what you feel when you split those rosy folds and slide all the way in, until her wet pussy is dripping on your--"

 With each word, Rory's mortification increased.  The Doctor was right; it was all up there for the stealing.  Amy's private moments of pleasure, her most revealing and vulnerable angles.  Things she trusted Rory with.  Things he didn't have the right to give the Doctor even if he asked.  Those memories weren't his to reveal.  Showing them to the Time Lord would be as despicable as passing around a nude photo of an ex.

Before the Doctor could describe exactly what her wet pussy could be dripping onto, Rory reacted. With his movement limited, there were only a few retaliation options, and he instinctually picked the quickest and most insulting.

He spit in the Doctor's face.

The Doctor's head jerked to one side. The words stopped.  Everything stopped.

Rory held his breath, prepared for whatever violent backlash he'd earned.

Slowly, the Doctor's gaze tracked back to Rory's. The faint smattering of spittle on his cheek made his skin glimmer in the dimness. He looked down with lips parted, a single syllable started--

But instead of launching into a rebuke, his mouth descended onto Rory's. And instead of crushing, like in their previous kisses, he kept this one soft.  The Doctor's lips scarcely pressed as they moved, creating a barely-there butterfly sensation. 

Rory didn't respond, too confused. He lay there and let the Doctor ghost over his lips.  _Was he trying to get a rise out of me? Like when he said Amy wasn't more important than the whole universe and I_...

"You were testing me," he mumbled against the Doctor's mouth.

"A bit, yeah," the Doctor said with a smile, nuzzling Rory's nose with his own before continuing his kisses.

"So you don't really want me to give you my memories?"

"I didn't say that." He shifted his hips, using his hard cock to nudge the apex where Rory's leg met groin.  "Oh, I'd love a peek, believe me.  But I agreed: when I want her, I have to make it about you.  Pathetic Rory I don't care for.  Flustered Rory is nice, but not nearly enough fun.  Aggressive Rory is getting there-- I love a bad boy as much as I love a bad girl.  But _protective_ Rory, the _I'd do anything under the stars to keep you away from her you bastard_ Rory..."  He pushed forward, grinding himself against Rory's pelvis.  "I've discovered I like him quite a lot."

Rory opened his mouth to snap out a retort, but the Doctor quickly pressed a finger to Rory's lips. "I think we've already established that I'm sick, Mr. Williams."

With a quick buck of his chin, Rory dislodged the Doctor's finger. "Well I don't much care for _manipulative_ Doctor."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"  His hand slid between their bodies to cup Rory's groin.  Finding Rory half-hard gave him grounds for a self-satisfied smile. 

Rory's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why did the Doctor have to make his heart pound _in that way_?  Why did his body have to react to every caress and sly glance?

"Don't be ashamed," the Doctor said, grazing his teeth over Rory's jaw. "The deal wouldn't work if I thought you didn't get off on it, too.  If I thought you didn't like me--didn't want me."

"I shouldn't." He couldn't meet the Doctor's eyes anymore.  That hungry gaze--eating up every second of his torture like it was a bowl full of sweet cream--tore at his dignity.

"No, you shouldn't" the Doctor agreed, slathering on the cruelty. "Not if this is really for Amy."

"It _is_ for Amy."

" _This_ \--" the Doctor squeezed Rory's erection through his pajama bottoms.  "This is for Amy?  Or is it for you?  Because it's a rare man that selflessly offers himself up as a plaything.  Honestly, there's nothing in this exchange for you?  Your stiff cock is a side effect of what, your utter apathy?  Of your _dis_ pleasure?  I think you've been telling lies, Mr. Williams.  And not just to me.  How does one go about deluding himself when the evidence of his desire is so...prominent?"

"I'm not here because I want to be."

"Right. Right.  You came to my bed--half naked--while your wife was sleeping, because you didn't want to."  The Doctor shifted backwards, down the length of Rory's form.  Rory didn't move, uneasy.  As he moved, the Doctor left wet, open-mouthed kisses on Rory's neck and chest.  "And you're hard because you don't want me on top of you.  You don't want my hands on your stomach--"  He mirrored his words with his actions, trailing his palms over Rory's abs as he continued to slide lower.  "Don't want my face this close to your crotch.   Don't want my fingers on your waistband.  Don't want me to pull down these trousers."

Rory clamped his eyes shut as the Doctor did just that--wrenched his trousers down, but only far enough to let his erection spring from its confinements.

An appreciative rumble escaped the Doctor as he admired Rory's cock for the first time. "You smell like sex," he said, his voice deep and rich.  "Potent.  This isn't the scent of a man who doesn't want to be exactly where he is--under me, waiting for me."  He buried his face between Rory's legs, rubbing his cheek and chin against Rory's shaft and balls, licking experimentally at the zenith where leg met pelvis. 

Rory let out a lewd groan at the touch. The Doctor's tongue left behind a generous trail of saliva.  Rory's cock twitched repeatedly as his abdominal muscles clenched and unclenched.

Apparently pleased, the Doctor tilted his head and licked a second stripe, this time up the length of Rory's prick.

Without his consent, Rory's right hand shot down to grab the Doctor's hair--ensuring the Time Lord stayed right where he was.

"I don't suppose you've noticed," the Doctor said, "But I'm quite orally-oriented. I enjoy new flavors, new textures.  There's so much you can learn about an object, or a person, via taste."  Once more, he drew his tongue up the soft skin of Rory's shaft.  "What could I learn about you, I wonder, from a mouth full of cum?"

Rory gasped and arched up mindlessly. What was the Time Lord doing to him?  Dear lord, he wanted nothing more than to sink into his hot mouth and shoot a load right down the Doctor's throat.

"Rory, do you want me to suck your cock?"

He didn't reply--instead he arched up once more.

With both hands, the Doctor held Rory's hips firmly to the floor. "You won't get it unless you ask for it."

All he could manage was a strangled nonsense word. _Don't make me say it. Please, don't make me beg_.

A turgid bead of precum formed on the head of his dick, and the Doctor lapped it up with the flat of his tongue. Impulsively, Rory tried to force the Doctor's head down further, force him to take the cock past his teeth.

"Bad, bad boy, Rory," the Doctor purred approvingly, resisting the push. "You have to tell me what you want."

"Your mouth," he gasped.

"What about it?"

Rory growled in frustration. "Damn it, just--please, suck my cock." 

"I thought you didn't want to be here."

"I--I do."

"You do, what?"

"I want to be here."

"And what do you want from me?"

God, what was _wrong_ with him?  "I want you to fucking suck my cock," Rory said, riled.

"Good boy." And with that the Doctor did as requested.  He slowly slid his mouth down Rory's shaft, taking it all in.

Ripples of pleasure ran through Rory. One ripple from the Doctor's lips, the next from his sliding tongue, a third from his tight cheeks sucked in and enclosing around every inch of Rory's penis.  Rory's lower half felt like it was drenched in a fiery ecstasy, and his mind hazed over.

Of course he wanted this. How could he not want this?  What was so wrong about this anyway?  Why had he resisted?

Why?

Because...Amy.

 _Bastard_ , he mentally swore.  Though he wasn't sure if he meant the Doctor or himself.

Rory felt the head of his cock bump against the back of the Time Lord's throat and had to talk himself out of pushing further. He didn't like making Amy gag, but the Doctor...the Doctor would fucking deserve it.

 _Ah, what the hell_? 

He bucked his hips.

The Doctor quickly pulled back, coughing.

Rory didn't apologize. If it had been Amy, he would have been contrite to a T.  But this wasn't an accident, and he wanted the Doctor to realize that.

And realize it he did. His eyes flashed with anger, his fists clasped and unclasped. 

Rory tensed, ready for the punches to fly.

But once again he'd misread the Doctor. Determination quickly pushed away the anger.  He ran a shaky hand through his floppy hair before diving back in.  With one fist firmly wound around the base of Rory's cock, the Doctor began sucking him in earnest, head bobbing at a rapid-fire pace.

Rory pushed himself into a sitting position and tangled his fingers in the Doctor's hair once more. He pressed and pulled in time with the Doctor's rhythm, pounding into his throat and snarling with the onslaught of sensation.

It was the most aggressive blowjob Rory had ever received. Full of spite and jealousy and masculinity.

 _This is how men fuck_ , Rory realized. _Like their brawling_. _Like they're going to kill each other after they cum_.

Wet noises filled the dark room, punctuated occasionally by a moan or gasp.

Rory's orgasm began to build deep in his body. His balls pulled tight against the base of his cock.  The Doctor looked up into his eyes--mouth spread wide around Rory's prick, his grasping hand slick with saliva, ass up in the air, his other hand between his own legs, working.

The eye contact was all Rory needed. He let out a guttural yell as he came.  The pleasure cascaded over him, and he shot long streams of cum into the Doctor's eager mouth.

Long moments passed before he stopped shuddering, retreating from the high. Only when Rory lay once again on the floor did the Doctor release his cock with an audible _pop_.  Making sure Rory had a good view, he swallowed, taking it all down--everything save the small trickle that ran out of the corner of his mouth and over his chin.

Still hard, the Doctor stood, stroking himself. He returned to his bed, sitting on the edge, calmly fisting his impressive erection.

No longer foggy-brained, Rory's embarrassment and shame came back. He flung one arm over his eyes.  _Oh my god, what did I let him do to me? What did I_ ask him _to do to me_?

"You can leave now," the Doctor said evenly.

Rory let out a skeptical laugh, devoid of humor. "Really?  With you still--?"

"I found out what I needed to know."

Rory gulped, not sure he should ask. "Which was...?"

"Rory Williams is not the martyr he thinks he is."

Wholly abashed, Rory didn't argue.

"Good night, Mr. Pond. You'll be repaying the favor soon enough."

Rory tucked himself back into his trousers, scraped himself up off the floor, and fled.


	6. When in Rome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long between updates! Writing is also my day job, so sometimes it's difficult to keep up with personal writing after hours. But never fear, the Rory/Doctor smut is still alive and kicking.

 

No matter how many times he washed, Rory was sure there was still glaring evidence of his adultery plastered somewhere obvious on his body.

Days later, he could still feel the Doctor's mouth on his cock--wet, soft...perfect. Every time he looked at the Doctor--whether the Time Lord was sitting innocently at the dining table or toying with the console's wiring--he flushed.

And the Doctor went on normally. He spoke to both Amy and Rory in easy, casual tones, revealing nothing. Even when the men were alone--a situation Rory tried to avoid--the Doctor didn't give him any knowing looks, or affirmations of affection, nor promises of depravity. He behaved as though nothing had changed, as though life remained the same. As though he _hadn't_ pressed Rory against a wall and threatened to ravish him, as though he _hadn't_ wanked while eavesdropping on Rory's dirty thoughts, as though he _hadn't_ sucked Rory's fucking prick.

Rory hated the neglect. He needed the Doctor to remind him that behind the innocent smiles and friendly quips was a manipulative, sexual monster.

A week had passed since the late-night blowjob, and he couldn't pretend it hadn't happened any longer.

The trio were out and about in Rome. Not Rory's Rome, though. A twenty-second century Rome in which remarkably little had changed since he'd last visited in the twenty-first.

Amy had gone into a dress shop and shooed her boys away. Rory tried to stay, but she'd insisted.

So here they were, Rory and the Doctor, walking the narrow side streets together, while the Doctor rambled on about some past escapade. Rory hadn't been paying attention to the story--all he cared about was the fact that they weren't talking about the obvious.

They slipped into an alleyway between two old apartment buildings. On one end was the outdoor-market they'd just browsed. On the other was a fork in the path and a darkened entrance to what looked like a trendy nightclub (closed at this hour).

"...and it wasn't until the Queen came forward that I realized my mistake. The monarchs on Evollion aren't your typical--"

"Stop it, alright? Just stop toying with me." Rory ran his hands over his face, like he was scrubbing away a thick layer of mud, before leaning against the nearest wall.

With a nod, the Doctor shut his mouth. He wasn't stupid; he knew what Rory meant. "Seven days. Well done, Rory," he said casually. "I had your tolerance level pegged for three, max."

"So, are we going to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about?" The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and looked sidelong at Rory. "Hmm? You've had a week to think about it, what did you imagine I'd say?"

To tell the truth, Rory hadn't considered. Not really. "I imagined, mostly, uh..."

"You didn't think we'd talk at all, did you? You don't want to have some rational, adult-ish conversation. You've been waiting for me to touch you again." The Doctor leaned one shoulder into the wall next to Rory, leaving a good foot between them. "So much so that I can't even carry on like a normal, sentient being. You can't accept that I have other things on my mind. That traveling is important, that keeping up the TARDIS is important. You expect my focus to be where yours is every waking minute: on sex." He picked at a spot of mortar, helping little flaking bits succumb to entropy before their time. "You can't stop thinking about it, about me, to the exclusion of all else. I'm sure you know what that's called."

_Yes, but..._ "I'm not--I'm not _obsessed_ with you."

The Doctor, amazingly, said nothing for a long moment. He let the "o" word hang, heavy and embarrassing and delicious, between them.

"This started with you pleading for your wife's, I don't know, what do you want to call it? Not safety, not security, because you know--you know--I would never do anything to her against her will. I think we said 'honor' that day we made the deal, but that's not quite accurate either, because none of us subscribe to some ridiculous sixteenth-century notion that a woman can't be both sexual and honorable. You said to me that you thought she would go mad with a taste of me, but do you really believe that? Or have you been pleading, simply--selfishly--for her fidelity? And pleading with _me_ , of all people, not her."

"I've tried to plead with her," Rory said. "And I do believe it would drive her...ok, not mad. But it would ruin us. You would ruin us. I know it."

"Perhaps," the Doctor conceded. "But what has a taste done to _you_?" Slowly, he closed the gap between them, bringing their torsos flush. "What do you need, Mr. Pond?" he said tenderly, eyes half-lidded. His gaze gently flickered over Rory's face before resting on his lips. "Tell me. I'm a compassionate man; I can give you what you need." Long fingers traced a circle against Rory's chest, teasing.

Rory's eyes rolled back in his head, as though he'd just smelled the most scrumptious thing in the world--if he was honest with himself, it was the same sort of expression he made when he buried his face between Amy's legs, when his caught a whiff of her wet pussy.

His dick grew heavy against his leg. "How can you...why are you doing this to me?" he asked breathlessly.

The Doctor slid sensually to his knees, running his hands down Rory's sides before positioning himself in front of Rory's fly. "Is this what you want? Why you coxswained us down this alley? So we could be alone in a city of millions? So I could suck you off in broad daylight, under your beloved Roman sky?"

Rory looked up and away, trying to talk his cock down.

"When you were the Centurion, you were faithful to a fault, weren't you? But what did you see? The Rory I first brought aboard the TARDIS wouldn't have cared two licks for...well, a man's lick. But your time in Rome and beyond awakened something in you, didn't it? Latent. But how? When did you come to realize..."

"It was you," Rory admitted through gritted teeth. "Yes, I went to bathhouses. Yes, I walked in on plenty of men fucking in the legion. But I never wanted any of them like I want you."

"And what about Amy?" the Doctor asked.

"I love her," he said sadly. "I want her. And you. I want you both."

The Doctor stood abruptly and grabbed Rory by the chin. "So do I. I want you fuck your wife so bad my balls ache every waking minute from the wanting." He spun Rory around, pressing his bulge into the human's backside. "So, is it now? Is now when I pound your ass while I imagine jizzing inside Amy? When in Rome, right?" He reached around and caressed the front of Rory's jeans, testing. "Does the idea make you hard? Do you want me?"

"Yes."

"What do you think would happen if Amy found us? What would she say if she caught me with my dick inside you? Do you think she'd scream in horror? Or would she like it?" He ground himself against Rory. "Would she order me to fuck you harder? Would she ask me to do her after I do you?"

"Shut up."

"Still can't stand the idea? What if she sucked you off while I fucked you? Wrapped those pretty pink lips around your hefty cock--just like I did--and moaned around you while I filled you up?"

Rory's cock was as stiff as a rock. He pushed back against the Doctor, reveling in the images his inner-eye was producing. Naked Amy crouched before him, in a pair of spiked high-heels. The curve of her back ending in her pert ass, her mouth pulled wide around his shaft.

Suddenly, he felt it again--the sonic doing its dirty work. It buzzed as the Doctor commanded the ghost cock to push past his tight ring of muscles to slide in and out of him. Rory rocked back harder, demanding the phantom really fuck him. The Doctor chuckled darkly, then moved his own hips in time with the imaginary cock. Though they were fully clothed, in Rory's imagination he and the Doctor were buck naked, fucking wantonly in the street.

The Doctor, naked, stuffing his long cock inside Rory's ass, spreading him wide the same way Amy's mouth was spread around Rory's shaft. God, yes. He wanted them to fuck him and never touch each other, never look at each other. Her pussy was his, the Doctor's cock was his. He could have them both but they could never have each other.

_Maybe I am obsessed..._

And then Rory sensed it, the Doctor entering his mind, looking over his fantasy with smug satisfaction.

The sonic thrust deeper, hitting his prostate. Rory growled, unprepared for the zing of pleasure.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped. "You do realize, of course, that we've left Amy unattended," he said, moving away.

"What?" Rory asked indignantly, still enthralled in the sonic sensations. Neither of them had so much as popped a button, and yet he felt like he was in the middle of the most exhibitionist sex he'd ever engaged in.

"Amy--the woman whose fidelity you're so concerned with? We left her alone. In Rome. Which is typically where Romans come from. And she likes Romans. A lot."

Rory huffed. He was going to fucking cream his jeans and the Doctor stopped...for this? "She doesn't want a Roman, she wants you."

"Still, I think it's best if we locate her." As though he'd simply finished scanning the wall, the Doctor pocketed the sonic and trotted off around the corner.

Rory felt like he should be gathering up a pile of clothes, but of course there was nothing to gather. He took a deep breath, then spared a moment to spit disdainfully on the cobblestones. "You fucker," he whispered, jogging after.


	7. What Rory Saw

"You are going to love what I bought us," Amy said sly as she and Rory wandered through the TARDIS halls toward their room. "I found this shop with specialty Roman toys." She shifted the bags in her hands, redistributing the weight of the booty she'd collected from a dozen different stores. Paper and plastic rumpled as she walked.

Rory was still dazed from an hour ago, when the Doctor had sonic-fucked him. "Toys?"

"You know..." she elbowed him in the side.

When they reached their room, something felt off. The door sat slightly ajar, and Rory thought he heard a _bang_ come from inside.

"Wait." Rory caught Amy's arm before she could enter.

"What? It's not like something big and green and harry is going to jump out at us from the bedroom. We're in the TARDIS."

"Um, yeah, _exactly_. Why is the door like that?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Well we aren't going to find out hiding in the hall, now are we?"

Together, they inched open the door.

"It's amazing," Amy said triumphantly, an air of wonderment coming over her. "Finally--no more bunk beds! Oh, thank you thank you thank you." She patted he TARDIS before rushing inside.

It didn't even look like the same room anymore. Easily three times the size, what had once been a cramped space--better suited for children than a married couple--was now a lush master bedroom.

Amy skipped over to the huge walk-in closet (with a full-length mirror on the door), then to the attached bathroom ("Rory, it's got dual shower heads!"), and finally, to the tall, fluffy bed. She dropped her bags unceremoniously on the floor. "Mine," she said, stretching out her arms and flopping backwards onto the black duvet.

"I don't know, Amy, shouldn't we ask the--the Doctor--" he almost choked on the name-- "If it's alright first?"

"But it’s our room."

"Rooms move. Maybe the TARDIS didn't change ours, maybe it put it someplace else."

"Whose bedroom it is, then?"

"I don't--"

"You don't think it's the Doctor's?" She sat bolt upright.

Rory turned away, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "No... No."

"Well then, unless he's got invisible friends aboard, I think we can lay claim." She eased back on her elbows and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Speaking of laying claim..." She crooked a finger at him.

"But what if...maybe it's..." He couldn't put his finger on why, but something in his brain insisted this room wasn't all it appeared to be.

Amy sprang back up and sauntered over to her husband. "Rory Williams," she purred, a predatory look in her eye. She backed him away from the door, toward the bed. "If you don't take me right here, right now, on this king-sized-- _king-sized!--_ mattress, I'll find someone who will."

It was a joke. Common hyperbole. But there was only one other _someone_ aboard. She might not have said, "Fuck me or I'll fuck the Doctor," but that's what Rory's reptilian brain insisted he'd heard.

Heat rose in his neck and his cheeks, and his jaw strained with the sudden clenching of his muscles. His fingers made angry fists of their own accord. Before he could consciously register why he was fuming, he grabbed Amy by the shoulders and forcefully pressed her onto the bed.

Amy smirked in appreciation. She loved it rough, but Rory always preferred to be tender. It took a lot to urge him in this direction--typically a life or death struggle.

Rory gazed at her for a moment, angry. He wanted to yell at her, _Why don't you come out and say it? Tell me you want the Doctor's cock inside you. Just admit it. Admit it! Tell me you want to sit on his dick so I can punish you with mine. So when I pound you I can claim you_.

But then another part of him yelled back, _You silly, insecure little twat. If you don't think you're man enough to keep her that's your fucking problem, so stop blaming Amy_.

That was normal Rory, rational Rory.

But Rory didn't want to be rational. He was tired of it. He was always the demure one in their relationship. Well, right now he didn't have to be. If she wanted it hard, he'd give it to her hard.

He fisted her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck. She arched her back in response, urging him on. "There's a mirror on the ceiling," she moaned.

"Good. You can watch me take you." He noticed he was directly across from a mirror himself--the mirror on the closet door.

Swiftly, he yanked on her blouse. Buttons went flying, just like in some tawdry novel. He exposed her flimsy silk bra. It had no padding, and her nipples stood out dark and round beneath the white fabric. Greedily, he lowered his mouth, biting her through the silk, tonguing her, making a big, round wet spot.

"Take off your leggings," he commanded. "And your skirt. But leave your panties on."

"Mmm, yes sir, Centurion, sir."

Her panties were white silk to match. They were cheeky-cut, framing her round ass perfectly.

Rory quickly disrobed himself, stroking his thick cock several times before grabbing her by the waist and throwing her back on the bed.

"Spread your legs for me," he said.

She did, giving him a nice view of her mound with the silk stretched taut over it. The fabric was already wet--darkened and dripping right where her pussy opened.

Rory crawled onto the bed in front of her and rubbed his face against her mound. Even through the silk, her cunt juices slicked his cheek. Swiftly, he pulled the fabric aside and darted his tongue into her folds, eating her desperately.

Her taste was heady, and feminine, and thick. And Rory couldn't get enough. He grabbed both of her thighs and pushed his face forward as far as he could, reaching deep with his tongue, loving every second of her pussy crushed against his lips.

Amy pulled at his hair, rocking her hips, grinding against his face. "Fuck, yes. God, just like that. More, Rory. Eat my pussy--you eat my pussy so good."

For a moment, Rory thought he heard another bang, like the bang there'd been before they opened the door.

"Don't stop," Amy demanded. "Eat that slutty pussy."

"Slutty pussy, huh?" he paused to gasp. _God damn right it's a slutty pussy_ , he said bitterly in his mind.

"So slutty," she said.

Guilt suddenly swamped him. _As slutty as your husband's cock_?

He stopped licking her and climbed on top of her. "Does your slutty cunt want some cock?"

"Fuck yes."

He brought the head of his dick to her opening. "You want this cock?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

"You're so fucking horny right now you'd take any cock wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she agreed, bucking up, trying to get him to thrust into her.

"Anyone could walk in here and stick his dick in you and you'd fucking ride it until you came, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. God, I just want cock."

_Bang_.

_What the heck was that_?

" _Anybody's_ fucking cock? Or...or..." He couldn't say it. He wanted to, badly. She was so caught up in their dirty talk right now that she'd admit it, even without thinking. _You'd fuck the Doctor if he came in right now, wouldn't you? You'd beg him to slide his fucking alien prick into your hot cunt. Because that's what you really want, isn't it? You really want to ride that goddamned Time Lord_.

"Rory," she pleaded. "Fuck me. I want your cock in me."

With grim satisfaction, he gave in. The big, purple head of his dick sank between her sopping wet folds. As his cock bottomed out, he looked up into the full-length mirror, and noticed that he could see beneath the bed.

And what he saw made him freeze.

_What the fuck_?!

They'd hidden beneath many beds with the Doctor, but this was the first time Rory had ever caught him hiding under theirs.

Rory wanted to scream, to yell, to pull the Doctor out and beat his pointy-chinned face in. But instead his brain simply shut down. His mind went blank.

"Mmm, wait," Amy said.

_Oh my god, does she see him too_? Rory thought, though that was impossible from her angle. "What?" he asked, barely audible.

"Remember? I have toys," she purred. She thrust her hips up a few times, fucking herself on his stationary cock before pulling off. "I want this to last. I want to play in our new room. Hold on."

Amy leapt off the bed, her sloppy panties still pulled aside, exposing her pussy. Rory wanted to snatch her back, to yank her onto the bed like it was surrounded by shark-infested waters, but his limbs still refused to move. She snatched up a bag and headed into the bathroom with a wink. "Be right back, Centurion."


	8. What Rory Felt

When the door clicked shut, Rory's senses returned. He slid off the bed quick as a flash, reached under the struts and hauled the Doctor up by his bowtie.

"R-R-Rory, Rory--" the Doctor mumbled warningly, his arms flailing as the other man threw him against the bed.

"That's it, you insane pervert," Rory growled, trying to keep his voice down. He had to get rid of the Time Lord before Amy found out. "I knew this felt weird--like a trap. You better hope you didn't see one inch of Amy's pussy, because if you did I will gouge your eyeballs out."

The Doctor didn't say anything. Didn't even look sheepish or triumphant--more stunned. He pulled out the sonic and flicked it at the bathroom door. The distinct sound of a lock moving into place broke the sudden silence. Then he leapt forward and captured Rory's mouth.

But it wasn't a kiss, not really. He licked at the corners of his mouth and across his chin, and when Rory tried to move away he held him firmly in place.

It took Rory a minute to realize what was happening--the Doctor was licking Amy's cunt juices off his face.

"The whole room smells like her," the Doctor said, eyes dark and full of lust. "Her pussy tastes...I want more." He kissed Rory again, tongue delving deep, a moan rumbling deep in his throat.

Rory pushed him sharply, their lips parting with a sloppy _smack_. "Get. Out."

The Doctor's eyes were full of defiance. He pulled off his jacket with quick, rough movements, tossing it across the room. His bowtie quickly followed. "I'm not going anywhere." He tried to move toward the bathroom.

"Don't you dare, you bastard." Rory caught his wrist.

"Shut up," the Doctor said sinisterly, knocking Rory aside. The Dark Doctor had returned, animalistic, in command. He sneered at Rory, noting his pain and loving it. "She said she just wants a cock. I'll fucking give her a cock."

Furious, Rory grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder and punched him square in the jaw. The Doctor doubled over, grabbing the bed to steady himself.

"We. Had. A. Deal," Rory spat.

The Doctor stood, rubbing his chin, a smirk on his lips. "You're right," he said, false shame palpable. "I didn't even mean...I was trying to get this place ready when you walked in. It was supposed to be an apology, for the alleyway."

"I'm supposed to believe that? That you're in here on accident? I suppose that's why your fly is down. Were you accidently wanking as well?"

The Doctor rolled his tongue against his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'm not one to waste and opportunity." He sauntered back into Rory's space, palming the red spot forming on his jaw. He seemed to appreciation the pain.

Then Rory remembered--the Doctor wanted to fuck angry.

Breathing deeply, the Doctor leaned in close. "Everywhere. Amy everywhere." Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, putting himself on-level with Rory's flagging cock. He inhaled again as he buried his face in the curls of Rory's pubic hair.

Rory grabbed the mop that was the Doctor's hair, yanking his face back. "Get off me."

"We had a deal," the Doctor reminded him softly. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly, his throat clearly watering with excitement. "Time to pay up, Mr. Pond."

Rory knew he was right, knew where this had to go. The Doctor's pupils were blow wide, hungry and deep. A horny, ready Amy was just on the other side of the door. If the Doctor saw her now, with her scent in the air and her taste already on his tongue, he would beg her to let him take her. Rory had to keep his end up, or everything would come crashing down.

He could have simply released the Doctor, but instead he pulled him forward. Fisting his cock with his free hand, trying to regain some of his hardness, Rory pressed the tip to the Doctor's lips.

The Doctor's eyes rolled back in his head, and he hungrily slipped his lips over the head of Rory's prick, taking him down his throat in one swift gulp. Without bobbing, he let his tongue wander over the shaft before sucking his cheeks in.

Rory knew the Time Lord was savoring the taste of Amy on his dick, and it made his stomach turn. He wanted to hit him again, to call him a sick bastard and push him down and yank his trousers off and press between his legs and palm his ass and--

Suddenly, he was painfully fully erect. He clutched the Doctor's hair more tightly and shoved, like he had before, trying to make the man choke on his length.

But he didn't--the Doctor simply took him. Rory pressed further, and still the Doctor did not gag. After a long moment, Rory pulled away. A shiny line of saliva stretched between the head of his cock and the Doctor's wet, reddened lips.

After a moment the Doctor grinned at him, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Respiratory bypass system. You caught me off guard last time. Not again." With that, he reclaimed Rory's cock, taking him in with a growl.

He sucked hungrily, cleaning Rory's dick more so than blowing it. He tried to get every last bit of Amy, to claim it as his own.

That masterful, ridiculously limber tongue had Rory's toes curling already. His palm settled back down on the Doctor's head, gently at first, but then--

"Rory?"

The bathroom door rattled. Amy was trying to come back, but the doctor had sonic-ed the lock.

Rory's fingers curled against the Doctor's scalp. "Stop, stop. Doctor, _stop_."

But the Doctor was in his own little world--eyes rolled back in their sockets, a soft humming coming from deep in his throat as he pressed his lips all the way down Rory's shaft so he could tongue at his balls with the crown of Rory's prick pressing against the back of his throat.

"Don't, Doctor," Rory pleaded quietly. "She'll know something's wrong. You have to go."

The handle rattled again. "Rory? This isn't funny. Are you out there? Ror--"

The whine of the sonic interrupted her. Pulling off Rory's cock with an obscene gasp, the Doctor said, "She can't hear us now."

"But she's still stuck. She'll still--"

The Doctor rose to his feet. "Shut up, Rory. You're ruining my fun. Lie back on the bed."

"Doctor..." Rory said warningly.

"Do it," the Doctor demanded, giving Rory a shove.

Rory stumbled back, his legs hitting the side of the bed. His head whirled with possibilities. What was the Doctor going to do to him? Was he really just going to leave Amy there, trapped in the next room, while he defiled her husband?

"We can't do this now," he tried to reason with the Doctor, even as he shifted up to lay fully on the mattress. His cock strained painfully up over his pelvis, twitching in the cool air.

"I can do whatever I want. I'm the Doctor," he growled, crawling up over Rory's supine body. He clasped Rory's wrists, holding them over his head as he straddled Rory's waist. "Don't worry, I won't drain you. You'll still be able to pleasure your wife. She won't know you've been giving me what I need."

"What does that--?"

The Doctor released his wrists. "Keep them there," he instructed, as he began unfastening his trousers.

 _Oh, God, how did I get into this_? Rory asked himself.

With a quick twist of his wrist, the Doctor pulled his dick out of its confines. He stroked himself dexterously, once, twice, letting Rory get a good look at his length and girth this time. He was thick, and uncut, and the long slit in the head was already leaking copious amounts of precum.

Once more, the Doctor raised the sonic and pointed it at the bathroom door.

"Rory? Helloooooo? Rory? Doctor?"

"She'll hear us," Rory hissed.

"No, she won't," The Doctor chuckled cruelly. "But I want to hear her lovely, panicked little mewls while I fuck your throat."

Rory tried to come up with some kind of clever rejoinder, but he couldn't think of anything he hadn't already said before. _You're sick, you bastard, you fucking nauseating ass_.

Before Rory knew what was happening, the Doctor crawled further up his length, until his cock was dangling mere centimeters above Rory's lips. Again, the Doctor held Rory's wrists to the mattress, and slowly lowered his hips.

There was no gentile preamble. As Amy let out another heart-breaking "Doctor?" the Time Lord shoved a generous length of dick into Rory's mouth.

Rory nearly gagged in surprise, but forced himself to relax--forced himself to breath in when the Doctor pulled out, and to breath out when the Doctor fucked back in.

"Good boy, Rory," the Doctor praised, rolling his hips. "Good boy."

Despite himself--despite the rage boiling in his belly--Rory's cock was filled to bursting. He imagined what kind of a picture they made. Him, naked and wanting, the Doctor mostly still clothed, face-fucking Rory into the bed clothes. The image made him groan in appreciation. It was so dirty, so wrong, so fucking wrong...

"Rory!" Amy called. Her fists pounded against the wood.

And the taste. The Doctor's cock tasted like nothing Rory had ever had, had ever imagined he would have. Not like a human cock at all, he was sure. There was something rich about it, like dark chocolate.

The Doctor pounded into him, and it was all Rory could do to keep himself steady. He'd never done this before--it would be so simple for him to slip up, to gag for real, but he concentrated with all his might. His throat started to feel raw and bruised with the force of the Doctor slamming in again and again, but Rory was determined to be good, to stay a good boy.

The sloppy sounds of the Doctor's slick shaft forcing its way in and out of Rory's mouth filled the room. Rory let himself appreciate how soft, yet heavy, it felt on his tongue--like a metal rod wrapped in silk. His mouth was so wet; he was drooling for the Doctor's cock. He hummed as that dark, rich flavor dripped down the back of his throat, making its way to his belly.

"Doctor! Anybody?"

Finally, the Doctor let out a roar. Rory felt more than tasted cum on his tongue. He was ready to swallow it all down--wanted nothing more than to slurp down every drop--when the Doctor pulled back, painting Rory's lips with thick, white globs.

Before he had time to take a free, deep breath, the Doctor was on him again, kissing him hard. The Doctor stretched out, bringing their torsos and hips and knees flush. His tongue lapped at Rory's mouth, cleaning off his own cum. He held Rory's face between his hands, moaning into the kiss.

And Rory kissed back. Now that his hands were free, he let them wrap around the Doctor, holding him close. The grip gave him leverage. He rocked up into the Doctor, pressing his erection against the other man's belly.

The Doctor gasped and pulled away. "Not yet," he said breathlessly. "Tonight. Tonight I fuck you, for real. But first, you have to take care of your wife."

Rory whined as the Doctor pushed himself up and away. He wanted him. God, why did he want him so badly?

The Doctor gathered his things as Amy continued to wrestle with the door. "Here," he said, pulling a small bottle out of his jacket pocket. He tossed it to Rory.

Rory caught it clumsily, then snapped open the cap. "Ah, eau de Rory."

"Can't have her suspecting. Quickly, now," he said, flicking open his sonic.

Rory understood, dousing himself as the Doctor made for the exit. As the bedroom door swayed behind him, the Doctor pointed the sonic through the crack at the bathroom. The bathroom door burst open, and Amy stumbled out as the bedroom door clicked closed.

She was naked, and flushed, and beautifully angry.

Rory looked at her from the bed, propped up on his elbows, his legs splayed wide, his cock hard and leaking.

"Didn't you hear me?" she demanded.

With a groan, Rory collapsed on to his back.


	9. What Rory Did

"I kept calling for you, why didn't you answer?"

What could he say? Not the truth. "The walls are too thick," he said breathlessly.

"That's utter shite, and you know it." Her red hair fell about her head in wild almost-curls. Her silk bra and panties sat askew, her swollen mound still exposed. As he stared, a thick drop of wetness dripped from her pussy to the floor--her anger hadn't abated her arousal in the slightest.

So he gave her a line he knew would fan the fire. Throwing his head to the pillow--gazing up at the mirrored ceiling before catching his own guilt-ridden face and looking away again--he said, "My ears are roaring. I'm so fucking ready for you to ride me--I can barely--" He canted his hips upward, thrusting into nothing for the sake of the display. With practiced fingers, he gripped his shaft, tugging roughly, putting on a show.

 _Well you are just a perfect prick, aren't you?_ He said to himself. Repugnance filled his limbs, soured his lusty edge, but he would not let his erection subside. Not before he'd given Amy what she needed.

"You promised…toys…" he panted.

Her anger morphed, turning from true irritation into sly coldness. "They were for you to use on me," she said. "But now I think you need punished for touching yourself while I was trapped in there."

"Punish me." He said it too quickly, too forcefully. Much more a demand than a request.

His dick throbbed in his palm, the head tingling. It matched the prickle in his throat, the aftermath of letting the Doctor face-fuck him not but moments before.

 _Slime. Filth. You are a whore, aren't you, Williams_? He had to force his inner monologue to say _Williams_ instead of _Mr. Pond_ , because the voice in his head wasn't his, not really. It was the Doctor's, spewing every nasty thing Rory had ever thought about himself, making it true, making it a keen observation instead of putrid self-loathing.

 _But you're not just any whore,_ the voice continued. _You're_ my _whore_.

"I'm your whore," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Amy asked. "Are you my big-cocked Roman whore?"

He closed his eyes for half a moment, swallowing dryly, trying to shake the sensation he was swallowing around a long, uncut dick. "Yes," he hissed.

"Good." Humming to herself, she rummaged around in her bags, pulling forth a black package and tearing into it with her teeth. The plastic fell away, revealing a smooth, six-inch baby-pink vibrator. "Comes with the batteries and everything," she said with delight.

"What are you going to do with that?" He tried to keep the apprehension out of his voice, but it wavered none the less.

She pouted sympathetically, and his chest constricted. _She thinks I'm scared she'll stick it up my ass. I_ am _scared she'll stick it up my ass, but not for the reasons she suspects_.

He breathed deeply through his nose.

 _I'm going to enjoy this. Too much. Bugger all, if she slides that inside me_ … "What are you going to do?" he asked again.

"Anything I like, Centurion. If you're my whore you're here for my pleasure and my pleasure alone. But don't worry. If you don’t like it you tell me to stop and, just like that, Bob's your uncle, I'll stop."

With that she pressed the button on the vibe's base and it buzzed to life.

His fist tightened around his cock, and his ass cheeks clenched together. "Do you…do you have lubrication for that?"

"To be honest I hadn't really planned to take it all the way to the house. I'm--I'm surprised you're even suggesting it."

"Baby steps?"

She crawled up on the bed, positioning herself between his legs. "Baby steps. Though…this _is_ supposed to be a punishment."

"Yes," he sighed. It sounded needy, desperate.

With it humming in her hand, she leaned over his body to whisper in his ear. "Do you want to be punished, Rory?"

"Need to be," he whined, fist quickening its pace, gliding and squeezing deliciously, but not as deliciously as her sopping pussy. "I've been bad."

"And bad little soldiers get fucked in the ass?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could answer, she slipped the vibrator behind his balls, pressing it against his perineum.

Electric pleasure pulsed up his spine. He arched up once more, thrusting himself against the vibrations. "Fuuuuuck," he moaned.

"It has twelve settings," she whispered, her hot breath caressing the nape of his neck. "How about we turn it up to eleven?"

His brain stuttered, "Whu--what?"

She twisted the base of the vibrator and the constant buzz shifted into a deep, rumbling pattern. It had a distinct rhythm to it--whirring in a sharp staccato. He could feel it in his thighs and his butt cheeks, and it drew a hot, tingly line up the shaft of his cock.

His balls, though--those were in bliss. They drew up tight, shaking, throbbing. Amy pressed harder against his perineum and he shouted. The buzzing penetrated deep into his body, caressing everything in his pelvis--especially his prostate.

"If you don't…Amy…Amy, I'm going to come soon if you don't--ah--if you don't stop."

She chuckled. "Promise?"

With that, she swirled the toy around his asshole and _pressed_.

The thing was designed for easy penetration--of course it was. Its smooth, pointed tip slipped right in. She didn't thrust it far--only a centimeter or two made it inside--but Rory let out a deep groan and spread his legs wide.

Grinning triumphantly, Amy left the toy where it was and straddled her husband. She sank down on his shaft without preamble, and Rory bucked up to meet her.

"I'm not gonna last," he warned her apologetically.

 _I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to come in my wife's perfect cunt after sucking off the Doctor. I don't deserve to have this delicious thing up my arse. I don't deserve…I don't deserve_ …

Amy set a brutal pace, leaning over him with her tits in his face, her perfect rear end visible over her shoulders, bouncing away on his rigid cock. "Don't deserve what, love?" she asked.

He'd been mumbling.

"You were supposed to punish me," he said.

Her rhythm never faltered. Every wet glide of her tight pussy sent waves of pleasure through him--waves that collided with the vibrations coming from the toy (set to eleven-- _eleven_!).

"So close, I'm so…" He grabbed her hips, tried to still her, tried to prolong their fucking so that she could have a proper orgasm.

But she wouldn't stop riding him. "Come in me, then," she dared.

His balls slammed into his pelvis. He could feel every hot stream pumping through him, filling her pussy. His orgasm was all-encompassing, his vision went white, with an orange tint on the edges. It was a relaxing summer's day mixed with the best high--it was bare tits and bunny rabbits and every wonderful thing he could ever think of. It was so good. So good…

And Amy was pulling off half-way through. One second he was emptying himself into her, and the next he was shooting jiz into the cool air. But he didn't care.

And Amy was moving. Moving up his body. Up to his face. She thrust her pussy down on his mouth--

"Lick," she commanded.

Lick he did. He ate her with abandon. He tongued deep inside her folds, drawing forth every bit of his come he could find while his dick throbbed.

She ground down onto him, making sure her clit and labia had the proper pressure applied. She rode his face until she screamed.

And she kept riding him until she screamed again.

And when she was done--when she'd come down from her orgasmic high, she rolled off of him and commanded he sit up.

He did as he was told.

"Keep me warm," she said. He moved to spoon her but she pushed him away. "Nuh-uh. I'm going to sleep. Keep my pussy warm. With your mouth."

His spent dick gave a hearty twitch. She wanted him to be a pussy warmer--to sit there with his tongue inside her while she took a post-coital nap.

"This is your punishment," she said sleepily.

Groaning deeply, he squirmed in between her legs and opened his mouth to her folds. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, letting himself drool all over her clit.

She gently rubbed his hair for a moment, before going pliant beneath him.

 _How did I get so lucky_? He thought. _I don't deserve you, Amy. I never did_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought this was dead, didn't you?


End file.
